Soul Rebirth
by StarsOfYaoi
Summary: *SasuNaru, One-Shot* The path of his life is a long, straight line, and he walks it alone. Yet, he keeps on searching for his one love. Forever. Through Eternity. Soul mates are tied together, after all.


**Edit:** 27/03/2011

**StarsOfYaoi:** this was entirely rewritten. I've grown way better with sentences, and it might be easier to read now.

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**Rating**: T.

**Summary:** Eternity; walking, breathing, searching, because nothing matters anymore. (SasuNaru)

**Warning:** might be weird to read at first. Contains a yaoi pairing. If you do not like yaoi, please backtrack and do not read further. Critique is welcome, but try not to flame, as it shows your lack of intelligence.

**Disclaimer: **Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto, not me. I do not own. Do not sue.

"Talking"

'_Thinking'_

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**Soul Rebirth**

**One-Shot**

–:–:–:–

_**What is eternity without him?**_

_**Nothing but a hopeless walk down a straight path, barely brushing other lives that twirl and twist and spread in short yet delighted lines.**_

_**Wishing to belong, but knowing that he never will, because his existence is naught without him at his side.**_

_**Fear of losing everything he cares for, as it grows old and weak and dies, while he does not.**_

_**And he's alone again, heart thumping into his chest with a hollow echo, eyes once again unfocused and lost.**_

_**He keeps on walking.**_

–:–:–:–

_Because words fail._

_They reach in the darkness_

_But cannot touch your soul._

_Yet I will keep on trying._

–:–:–:–

A moment floating in space and time.

It's small and fleeting, a moment where everything _stops_ –words are left hanging in the air, silent, with no sound other than that of falling tears, a mourning for what could have been, what was, and what wasn't.

A single instant within the grasp of eternity can hold onto many things; it has the vague remembrance of 'forever' and 'never', of Yin and Yang –a sort of hardly-maintained balance… and then it can shatter easily, caring nothing for what it holds within.

Fingers can sift through the sand, glistening against the evening sun as water collects at your feet, barely grazing your skin, moving away as you lift your hand, and watch the sand slither through them.

Gone.

A single moment of connection with eternity, a feeling that echoes through your body, until everything is naught but a whisper, soft and soundless.

As you reach out for it, it evades your grasp, toying with your senses, and you keep hoping because that's the game it plays… then it disappears without a trace, and only darkness remains –nothing more, nothing less.

There are tears rolling down his bruised cheeks in a never ending stream, causing despair within his heart at the thought that never (_not now, in this life, not ever through all of eternity_) will he be able to meet such love again.

And words simply fail to cup around this realisation, there is no salvation for his soul, nothing that can offer any consolation to his heart. His ears are deaf, his eyes cannot see, his brain racked by the sound of his heart, pure chaos.

He can't think. He can barely breathe as the wind claws at his face, howling a song of mourning as he holds onto the last remains of a soul that is now gone.

He's cold.

He's lonely.

Loneliness is his only company, his chest heavy with hollowness and despair, knowing that he's lost all that has ever mattered in his life in the blink of an eye, a life that vanished like a butterfly amongst a storm, wings fluttering uselessly against the harsh winds until it falls, dying in that moment of spinning hell.

He's breathing heavily, eyes following the contours of a face marred with blood and tears, arms tightening around a lifeless frame he's holding tightly, unable to concentrate on anything else (_everywhere he looks there's only red, crimson liquid tainting his eyes and his conscience_), and nothing else matters except the loss of warmth the body once provided.

Now it's just as cold as he feels inside, and the sun has set taking _**his**_ spirit away.

His love, his life –his breath his soul his everything– all of it is lost in the emptiness that comes after a heartbeat and the lack of the following one.

He's alone, and there are no words to express the longing he feels, the loss and the pain.

Nothing compares.

Somewhere far away, a giant, rusty bell echoes with a deep sound, taking away _**his**_ life and with it, also all the colours of his world.

He's crying –and he's talking, but he cannot hear his own words as rain falls heavily all around him, covering the world with a thick, damp blanket, but words don't matter in the end, because their meaning isn't lost with the sound; eyes that were as blue as the sky are now filled with a greyish mist, tears that slowly trickle down his cheeks, and with each of them also the meaning of his life, the reason he's been alive so long.

He fought with claws and fangs and rage and anger and despair, and now he's lost his meaning and nothing is left but pain –not even hatred.

_Everything is lost, he has failed, he lost what he held dear and the pain is too much to bear–_

Walking along with him, step by step at his side, Death was always there, never interacting with him but always courting him as he courted it back, influencing his connection with others around him…

And today that connection was severed, Death took its payment, finally demanding the price for living so close to it without ever losing something to it.

_**He**_ has passed away from this reality to somewhere else where he cannot follow. _**He**_ is lost.

Rain continues falling. Wind dances around him, singing a song of mourning that echoes his tears and his screams and swallows them away.

"_I love you"._

–:–:–:–

"_What happened to your heart?"_

"_I dropped it long ago._

_My path was too long,_

_And my heart was too heavy"._

–:–:–:–

And so he walks around, leaving _his house his friends his duties_, simply walking straight ahead to where the sky blurs with the ground, because where there is no clear distinction it's easier not to notice that his eyes are lost and to him the world is shapeless and the colours are only grey and dark and grey and nothing else.

He has walked for a long time, until everything blurs into the same thing, and he mourns his loss no more, because that's how it is –there is no future and no past, only an eternal present where years are seconds and a second lasts a lifetime.

Time has no meaning, space has no limits, he comes and goes and stops where he sees life thriving, envying those that can feel time as it passes by.

Envying those Death embraces in her deathly arms.

He courts a beautiful lady that evades him with every step he takes, watching her brush her white hands made of bones on someone else's cheeks, never his own, staring straight into empty eyes filled with the darkness of the universe, trying to grasp at her long cloak –but she keeps avoiding him.

He is nothing to her, as Lady Death has no business with someone she can't touch.

The Reaper fasts upon his existence, thrives around him, but cares nothing for him, a naïve little boy that had to mature all of sudden one day when she swept down to grasp the one he loved the most.

It wasn't then that he realised the truth of his bane, as it would take years more for him to notice something amiss, but that was the very start –spoiled meat starting to rotten.

From then he never went back –the thought that his house would never hold _**his**_ voice again, that he'd be alone inside bare walls was too much.

So he travelled.

Time became meaningless, as it never changed and never helped. It moved on without touching him.

He grew strong and protected many during his travels, but in the end, he was always alone, with the pain that _**his**_ death had brought him still fresh, and every small detail he saw in someone else's face always reminded him of what he lost.

He fell into insanity and moved on.

He walks.

Dull eyes observe the world, arms take grasp on bodies and souls, killing and protecting because in the end, that's what he does the best, then moves on before they can grow dependant on him.

His ears resound with the flutter of a butterfly's wings that slowly falls into silence, his eyes catching the last vibrating tone of colour of that same butterfly plunging into darkness.

What is the meaning of life?

What is the meaning of _his_ life?

Maybe once he knew; he sees recognition in others but he can't find an answer, because even if it had been there before, in his mind in his heart– now he's lost everything and it has been too long since then. He has forgotten.

He thinks. Reminisces.

He remembers when he was small and young and clueless. He remembers being unable to hate, he remembers being unable to be truly selfish, but he has long since realised that this was his own way to be selfish –placing others before himself because that way he could ignore the wound growing bigger inside his chest, because if he cared more for others than for himself, someone would surely notice and love him for that.

_His own hidden selfishness._

Self–sacrificing once and again, yet nobody cared. Eyes that took notice of him long enough to offer words of praise (_because he bleeds for others, because he's so selfless, because he sacrifices himself in ways no one would do in his place_) before dismissing him to pursue their own selfish whims.

The world evolved around him and left him behind, moving too fast for him to reach out, but when he stopped short of death, unable to touch it then –he stopped trying.

He let go.

There was no point anymore. He embraced that life that had always been his.

There was a moment at one point –people came for him; they begged him to return, pleading him to stop hurting himself so much since he's dying inside.

He has laughed then, he laughs now, remembering. He wanted them to understand, wished for them to, but he knows they can't. even if only a fraction of their lives has passed, it's all too fresh for him.

He can't come back. They can't make him.

Maybe one day, he thinks as he lets them go and walks forwards again –but that one day is always too late after he realised he's dancing with Lady Death.

Mist gently covers their faces, and he moves on.

Others come, others go. Souls bound to Earth that reach for him every now and then, and he denies them the touch, denies himself their touch. Then slowly, more time passes –years, decades– and they finally understand.

Where wrinkled skin is old and hands are shaking, he is still standing strong. Untouched. Young.

Where eyes are filled with tears and horror and fright and pity (_pity above everything else, because now they know and they are scared –not __**of**__ him but __**for**__ him_) and tears are shed but not from him.

His eyes are young, his pain is renewing itself, and he's stuck in–between, no past, no future, just… present.

They leave. They cry for him.

They never come back.

With their deaths come forth acceptation. The last he's known are gone, and he embraces fully his curse –he is eternal, and it denies him that last dance Death offers to everybody else.

Death walks at his side, but no matter how much he offers, she'll never truly dance with him –only to him.

Time waits for now one, and he's long since fallen behind.

He has no choice –he runs after it, but never with the hope to catch it.

–:–:–:–

_Skin against skin,_

_In a vain attempt to feel_

_His soul is lost and dumb, though_

_There is no life._

–:–:–:–

The forest is big.

It swallows him as he moves, swallows the sound of his footsteps, but his heart gets caught with the sight and for a moment even the pain dulls away.

He can remember a time when he has walked on a similar path with similar trees and similar sounds, but in his memory everything is grey because at the time the colours were still present and now that he can't see them anymore, his memories are dreary.

He hear voices and laughs, and the sound hurts his ears (_happiness is something he runs from, because it hurts too much to see a smiling face that reminds him of __**him**__ before the world shattered_), and his heart tightens.

Still, he doesn't stop and reaches the end of the forest, and a meadow opens up in front of him, shades of grey welcoming him. there is a family there. They are laughing.

And for a moment, he feels like crying again (_but what's the point in crying if he can't die? What's the point in crying if he doesn't want tears to make him feel better?_), because what he sees now is clearly a lie.

He looks on and sees the ghosts of a past that doesn't belong to him but to what he once was. Ghosts do not exist, he repeats to himself.

So what he sees is a lie.

He sees ebony hair and charcoal eyes and smiles and a mother and a father and an older brother and a small kid and he wants to laugh and cry and his lips only part because he can't _breathe_.

Something bright trickles into his sight and he can't recognise it, but at the same time he knows what it is.

The boy is laughing. He is running to catch a ball and the ball is red (_crimson red blood red but still __**red**__ and red is a __**colour**_), and fear rushes through his body and he fears Death again, because he can't dance with Death.

He can't follow if Death dances with the boy again.

Memories of a face. Memories of a voice. Strong and overwhelming and his defences break and he's crying. Tears that are salty and so many and he falls on his knees, grass clenched in his fists, and he sobs and breaks down again.

Because it's too painful, and he knows he must have finally completely descended into insanity because he _can't stand the sight_.

A small figure approaches, forgetting about his red ball. He's speaking, but Naruto can't really hear him, because he's dead and has been dead for so many years and it's stupid to let this nightmare continue, this illusion, and yet–

Black eyes are looking at him, big and innocent and void of the pain and hatred and sadness and coldness, and his hair is like silk and his skin is so pale and it's so _**him**_ and yet it can't–

"Are you ok Mister?" he asks. The voice is the same. "Why are you crying?"

And a voice mutters an answer, but he can't understand who is replying because he can't recognise that shuddery, rough tone, and then epiphany –it's _his own voice_ and he hasn't used it in so long so of course he can't recognise it.

"I am not crying".

_But he is._

"But you are," the voice is accusing. Cute.

"Am not," and he sobs.

The boy smiles. At him. that smile is so innocent he feels like killing _**him**_ for it. _**He**_'s not supposed to smile like that. _**He**_'s not supposed to be alive. _**He**_'s not even supposed to exist.

Not in this life.

"Mom says big guys cannot cry, and mom is always right!"

He looks up, eye to eye with _**him**_, and he understands. It's painful and it hurts to see it, but something inside him hurts less, and he wants to cling to this boy and cry even more, because he has waited for so long without knowing he was, he has waited since forever, and now–

_**He**_ doesn't know who he is, _**he**_ can't remember, but _**he**_'s alive, and _that's enough_.

–:–:–:–

_My life belongs to eternity,_

_My soul is gone, no hope for it to return_

_My lungs are burning with a taste of despair,_

_My heart is lost yet I taste life again._

–:–:–:–

His life suddenly has a meaning again.

The colours are blinding, bright, so fresh and beautiful and everything is suddenly on focus again, and the pain gently abates.

He can remember, he can feel, and the air brings forth the scent of spring and flowers and happiness, and he can name the colours and he has stopped walking, devoting himself to _**him**_, and he feels complete again.

Death and blood and loss are forgotten in a past that blurs every day more, and he works hard, and finally –_finally_– loved again, and when the moment is right, when he has spent years with _**him**_ and he can see _**his**_ face again, just as it was in the past, and they are together, he finally feels like he belongs somewhere again.

The pain disappears in the blink of an eye, and he's willing to forget and live onwards and he knows that one day the dream will end, but he doesn't want to think about it yet.

He's there. He's by _**his**_ side, watching _**him**_ grow and mature, loving _**his**_ smiles, so special, belonging only to him, living at _**his**_ side and making up a fake life to be with _**him**_, because that's why he exists now.

His soul is bound, not to Earth, but to _**him**_. He lives for _**him**_, only for _**him**_.

Kisses are sweet, passion burns, and he belongs again and he can taste and touch and live and smile and laugh and breathe and for a moment, _**his**_ new life lines up and intertwines with his own.

Everything is right.

Years are seconds again, and a second is once again a lifetime spent in happiness.

_But once more he wakes up with a cold body in his arms, and the world shatters again._

It was too short –tasting this life in a small bite and now he's left craving for it, with a bittersweet aftertaste in his mouth. Robbed of happiness again.

He's lost. He's once again thrown away. Death steps up at his side to restart their endless journey.

He moves again.

–:–:–:–

_Where is my heart now?_

_I want it again,_

_Because Life is deafening_

_I can't stop, I need it._

–:–:–:–

Through eternity spent walking, names are long since lost.

His love has always new names, different names (_he can remember all of them, because his memories are all he has left in the end, the strength that makes him start walking again, that makes him seek __**him**__ out after __**he**__'s left him again_), but he never changes his own, because every time he sees _**him**_ he's reminded of what he is, and how he'll never forget, for as long as he is alive –and that means forever.

It's a bond –it's the only thing that makes him be the same despite how much time passes. When _**he **_dies, that's the name _**he**_ mutters, the last word before Death embraces _**him**_ (_like a prayer like a wish like a hope like a promise –find me_).

Because in that moment, because when the veil of life and death parts to let _**him**_ through, _**he**_ remembers everything, and in a moment that is too short and far too long all the same, _**he **_understand why _**he**_'s loved the blond enigma at first sight. _**He**_ understand why _**he**_ never wanted to leave, why _**his**_ heart always belonged to this man who's walked through life in order to see _**him**_ again.

Their love is stronger than life. Their love is stronger than death, and no one else would ever make _**him**_ feel this so strongly, with a fulfilling love that burns through _**his**_ life.

On _**his**_ deathbed, he smiles at the blond man with warmth, knowing that while _**he**_ sleeps and is reborn, he will walk and search for _**him**_, and the next time _**he**_ opens his eyes, he will be there, because they cannot be separated, not even by death.

Both are aware of this. Both are ok with this.

Because this is not a _goodbye forever_, but a _see you soon_.

"Naruto…" the same voice, always the same in a thousand different lives, with the same tone and the same love, says his name. "Find me again…"

The promise is voiced again.

"I will, _**Sasuke**_," is his answer.

In that moment it is always _that_ name that remains, the name that started this journey, the name that doesn't mean the end anymore, but simply the start of a new day.

'_Sasuke will be rebirth again, and I will find my way to him, again and again and again… from now since forever…'_

**Until death do us apart.**

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**StarsOfYaoi:** although my OTP is ItaNaru, I always thought Sasuke and Naruto are soul mates. Or something. Was it depressing? Please, do drop me a comment to tell me if you've liked this…


End file.
